


What a Beautiful Wedding

by sunshinefemme



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Making Out, Schmoop, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 11:08:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2022870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinefemme/pseuds/sunshinefemme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joe invites Patrick to Dallon and Breezy's wedding because Patrick has no friends. Patrick gets more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What a Beautiful Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by an actual wedding that I went to with my partner, and information about the venue can be found at goreplace.org.

Patrick’s not really sure how he ended up agreeing to go to the wedding of two people he’s never met. He doesn’t even really know Joe that well; he just comes to  Patrick’s store a lot and reads books without buying them. But Joe knows Patrick well enough to exploit his weakness to the prospect of free cake.

“So whose wedding are we going to?” Patrick asks, adjusting his tie in the front seat of Joe’s car.

“Dallon and Breezy Weekes,” says Joe.

“ _Breezy_?”

Joe shrugs. “They’re cool… for Mormons. I just think you need to get out and meet some people, man. Do you ever leave the Borders?”

“I go… places,” Patrick blushes. _Like the supermarket. That counts, right?_ “Besides, you’re not around me 24/7. You don’t know where I go. At least, I hope not.”

Joe chuckles. “You just seem like you could use more than one friend.”

They pull up to a fancy old estate house, and Patrick is immediately impressed.

“The ceremony and reception are actually outside, but they’re doing tours of the house,” Joe explains. “It’s a historic site.”

“Neat,” says Patrick.

There’s a cluster of trees where people are gathered for drinks and hors d'oeuvres, a big tent for the reception, and a bunch of chairs set up near a big tree, presumably for the ceremony. A guy with a curly undercut is doing acoustic covers of Beatles songs on the other side of the clearing. It’s probably the most picturesque wedding Patrick’s ever been to.

“I’m gonna go see if Andy’s here. You go… mingle, or whatever. I’ll come rescue you if necessary.”

And just like that, Joe’s abandoned him to this sea of strangers. Patrick heads to the drink table for a bottle of water, just to give himself something to do.

“You look a bit lonely,” says a middle-aged lady to his left. So much for hiding.

“Oh, uh, hi,” Patrick says awkwardly.

“Are you one of Dallon’s friends? I’m Breezy’s mother, Martha.”

“Oh, nice to meet you,” Patrick says automatically, shaking her hand. “Patrick. Actually, uh, I don’t know anyone here, aside from Joe. I guess I’m his date?” He remembers the Mormon thing and hastily adds, “Friend-date, anyway.”

“Oh, I’m surprised you don’t know Pete,” says Martha. “He’s the life of the party. Here, why don’t I introduce you?”

Patrick starts to say, “No, that’s okay,” but she cuts him off, dragging him over to a large group of people around his age.

“Pete, this young man is a friend of Joe’s. Will you show him around? His name’s Patrick.” And suddenly Martha is gone, and Patrick is surrounded, and this guy in front of him is—oh, damn. He’s got shiny brown eyes and a heart-melting smile, and Patrick is _gone_. His brain is raking in every inch of this guy without Patrick’s permission, eyes scanning down from his grey vest, to the tattoos poking out from beneath his rolled up red sleeves, to his impossibly tight jeans.

It takes him a minute to realize that this guy—Pete—is holding out his hand. “You okay, man?” Pete asks, and Patrick is weirdly relieved that maybe his instant crush is reading as social anxiety.

“Sorry,” Patrick says, grabbing Pete’s hand and shaking it a little longer than necessary. Pete doesn’t seem to mind; in fact, there’s a gleam in his eye that Patrick doesn’t find terribly comforting. Pete introduces him to everyone in the circle, which is dizzying and unhelpful.

“So, how do you know Joe?” asks a guy with fire engine red hair and a small child clinging to his leg — apparently Gerard.

“I’m a manager at a bookstore. Joe’s one of my customers. Well, loiterers.”

“My daddy makes comic books!” says the kid, peeking at him from behind a black domino mask.

“Oh yeah?” says Patrick, intrigued.

“Ever heard of The Umbrella Academy?” says Gerard, a little sheepish.

Patrick’s eyes go wild after a beat. “No way. Way! Gerard Way!”

Pete walks away, laughing, and Patrick wants to think he’s an asshole, but his laugh is too goofy, too endearing, to really bother him.

 

Patrick and Gerard chat for a while, and Patrick learns that his kid’s name is Bandit, which is either really cool or really silly. Maybe both.

“Pete’s single, by the way,” says Gerard apropos of nothing. Patrick feels his face get hot.

“Uhhh,” Patrick chokes, looking around for distraction or rescue and finding none..

“Do you think Mr. Wentz is cute, Mr. Patrick?” says Bandit.

Patrick can’t really deny it at this point, so he nods solemnly.

“You should tell him,” says Bandit matter-of-factly.

“Let’s go find Mommy,” says Gerard, giving Patrick a sympathetic look before scooping Bandit up and walking away.

Patrick grabs another bottle of water from the drink table and spots Joe playing horseshoes with a few others—Patrick thinks one of them might be Andy, and he’s pretty sure Pete introduced the other two as Gabe and Vicky. Really, Patrick should win an award for his ability to remember people’s names at a party.

“Patrick, you know how to play horseshoes?” says Joe when Patrick walks over to them.

“I really don’t think I should be allowed to throw heavy pieces of metal around,” says Patrick.

“Fair enough,” says Joe. “Hey, have you met these guys?”

“Gabe and Vicky, right?” Patrick asks, giving himself a pat on the back when they both nod.

“This is Spencer,” says Joe, pointing at the guy with the beard, and okay, maybe Patrick’s not perfect. “Spencer, this is Patrick.”

Spencer gives him an approving nod. “You wanna play croquet instead? Or cornhole?”

“What the fuck is cornhole?” says Patrick, adding, “Sorry,” after realizing his swear.

Gabe and Vicky both burst into giggles. “Oh my God, you’re _precious_ ,” says Vicky. Patrick really wishes he could stop blushing.

“Did someone say ‘cornhole?’” says Pete, leaping into view from some kind of pocket dimension. “Oh hey, you met Gabe! I have a tattoo of Gabe on my leg. I’d show you, but my pants are really tight.”

Clearly Pete Wentz was sent to Earth to make Patrick’s life miserable. “Why… why do you have a tattoo of Gabe’s face on your leg?” Patrick thinks he must sound hysterical. “I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with your face, Gabe—”

Gabe is still laughing. “It was a bet. Pete never backs down from a bet.”

“It’s true!” says Pete proudly. “Anyway, cornhole. It’s a game where you throw a little beanbag into a hole. Pretty simple. Like this!” Pete runs over to the game, grabbing a beanbag and throwing it so hard that it bounces off the wooden goal platform and onto the ground. “Okay, this is why I played soccer and not football.”

Patrick is positively smitten with this adorable dweeb. He lets himself relax a little, joining Gabe in his giggle-fest, but his laugh dies in his throat when Pete looks back at him, unmistakably fond.

“I think the ceremony’s starting soon,” says Joe, bringing them back to Earth.

 

Patrick sits in the back row between Joe and Pete, hoping the ceremony will be short. He’s never been that interested in this part, and it’s hard to pay attention when the people involved are complete strangers whose religion is something Patrick is only familiar with in parody form.

He glances down and realizes that Pete is all kinds of fidgety—bouncing his knees, tapping his toes, clenching and unclenching his fingers. He really, really wants to grab Pete’s hand—not to stop him, exactly, but to give him something to concentrate on. “You bored, too?” Patrick whispers.

“Yeah,” Pete mumbles guiltily. Patrick looks down at the ring that he wears on his right pinky. It’s the kind that spins, steel gears forming an infinite loop. He gestures it at Pete, who touches it and grins.

“Whoa, that’s cool,” Pete says, and he spends the rest of the ceremony playing with Patrick’s ring while Patrick tries to remain calm. Pete’s fingers are warm, and he smells good, and Patrick wonders if Pete feels the same way about him.

Patrick doesn’t realize that everyone is migrating to the reception tent until Pete is squeezing his hand. “Food,” says Pete, his eyes alight.

“Oh, right,” says Patrick, dazed. He follows Pete into the tent to discover that they’re at the same table, along with Joe, the actual Andy, and the Way family, including a guy who has to be Gerard’s brother.

“Mikeyway!” Pete sings, pulling the bespectacled guy into a hug. “Mikey, this is Patrick, our resident wedding crasher.” Mikey gives Patrick an approving nod.

“I was invited,” Patrick protests.

“He’s my plus one,” says Joe. “Patrick, did you meet Andy?”

“I guess we’re meeting now,” says Patrick, shaking Andy’s hand across the table. “Your beard is totally more impressive than Spencer’s, by the way.”

“Sweet,” says Andy.

“I heard that,” says Spencer from the next table over. “Ryan, aren’t you going to defend my honor?”

Ryan shrugs delicately to avoid upsetting his flower crown. “He kind of has a point.”

“Some best friend you are,” Spencer scoffs.

“Ooh, Patrick, you’ve started a war,” Pete teases.

“I’m pretty sure the status quo is still in place,” says Patrick, grinning as Spencer and Ryan start chasing each other around the tent, followed by Bandit.

“Looks like we can grab food now,” says Pete after a moment. “You wanna get in line before everyone else gets the same idea?”

“Okay.”

 

“Are you a vegetarian, too?” asks Pete when they both sit down with their veggie burgers.

“Sort of. I’m not very good at it,” Patrick admits.

“It’s the thought that counts,” says Pete.

“Wow, this is pretty good,” says Patrick after taking his first bite.

“They’ve really improved on veggie burger technology,” says Pete. “No longer are we limited to soy, soy, and more soy.”

“Soylent green,” Patrick whispers, mostly to himself. “Anyway. So, uh, how do you know all these people?”

“I own a club called Angels & Kings. You’ve probably never heard of it. ...God, that sounded so hipster-y.”

Patrick laughs. “No, it’s okay. I pretty much am as much of a hermit as I seem. Although, now that I think about it—did I see the Hush Sound there once?”

“Probably,” Pete grins. “Hey, we’re bringing in Onerepublic next week. You should come check it out.”

Patrick starts to wonder if Pete is asking him out on a date, but he’s interrupted by the clinking of glass. It’s all pretty standard as far as weddings go, with the toasts and the kisses and the embarrassing stories about the bride and groom. Patrick is grateful when the DJ starts playing and the cake is brought out.

“I’m gonna go find Gee and Bandit,” says Mikey. Patrick hasn’t even noticed the lack of Gerard’s presence. His partner, Lindsey, doesn’t seem to notice either, absorbed in some sort of game on her phone.

“Time for an epic dance battle,” says Joe, dragging Andy to the dance floor.

“Well _I’m_ gonna get cake,” says Pete. “Shall I grab you a piece, ‘Trick?”

Patrick is thrown off by the sudden nickname. “Uh, sure.” He’s left fiddling with his ring for a few minutes. Lindsey looks up at him once, giving him a knowing smirk, before returning to her game.

“Here you go, buddy,” says Pete when he sets a plate of cake in front of Patrick, along with a cup of tea. “Dunno if you like tea, but it sounded nice to me.”

“Thanks,” says Patrick, delighted. “Tea’s great. What kind is it?”

“I think it’s a blend of some kind. It said ‘Paris’ on the box.”

Patrick takes a sip and it’s perfect—like Earl Grey but with notes of vanilla and caramel and something else. He closes his eyes and relishes the scent. “Mm.”

“Wow, yeah,” says Pete after trying his own. “Shit, I might need to steal one of those boxes.”

The tea is even better after a bite of cake, and Patrick is in heaven. Pete, the cheeky bastard, is eating his cake _with his hands_ , licking frosting off his fingers after every bite. Patrick is convinced that Pete’s doing it on purpose, especially after he grins around his thumb and cocks an eyebrow at him.

“ _Ahem_ ,” says Gerard when he returns to the table with Bandit, giving Pete the side-eye. Pete bites his lip guiltily, and Patrick feels his cheeks burn.

“Mr. Patrick, you’re really red,” Bandit says.

“I, uh,” Patrick says, at a loss.

Thankfully Patrick doesn’t have to explain himself, because at that moment Joe and Andy return.

“Dude, did you seriously catch the bouquet?” asks Pete.

“Yup,” says Joe casually, who proceeds to pluck flowers from the bouquet and arrange them into Andy’s beard.

 _Wow, and I thought I was gay_ , Patrick thinks.

At that moment Gabe comes bouncing over to their table with a wide grin. “Hey guys, I put in a request for the Time Warp. Who’s with me?”

“I’m good,” says Joe, concentrating on his work.

Patrick wants to say no and avoid embarrassing himself horribly, but Pete is giving him a pleading look. “Okay, you gotta knock it off with the puppy dog eyes, Pete.”

“Does that mean yes?” Pete asks. Patrick nods reluctantly, and Pete throws his fist in the air as they make their way to the dance floor.

Patrick can’t help but laugh as Gabe mouths along and gestures wildly to Riff Raff’s part. He feels less and less ridiculous as the song goes on, watching everyone else on the dance floor do the pelvic thrust. At the end of the song, when everyone falls to the floor, Patrick lands next to Pete, and they’re both breathless and giggling. Patrick is struck with the thought of how easy it would be to just roll over a little and cover Pete’s body with his own, and he has to force himself to think unsexy thoughts to keep his dick from twitching in interest.

Pete gets up first and offers his hand, pulling Patrick to his feet so forcefully that Patrick has to brace himself against Pete’s chest. And as fate would have it, that’s the moment when the DJ switches to a slow song, something Patrick hasn’t heard since high school. Pete looks at him, his expression unreadable.

“Do you, uh,” Pete says, the tips of his ears going pink, “Should we…?” He doesn’t move away, just rests his hands lightly on Patrick’s shoulders.

 _Fuck it_ , Patrick thinks, wrapping his arms around Pete’s waist. “Might as well,” Patrick says quietly, ducking his head to hide his embarrassment. They move in an awkwardly slow circle, but after a minute or so they relax into each other, and Patrick stifles a gasp when Pete rests his head on his shoulder. Okay, Patrick might be a little oblivious when it comes to other people’s affections, but it’s pretty hard to mistake Pete’s body language right now.

When the song ends, Pete looks up at him with glossy eyes. “You wanna go for a stroll?”

“Yeah,” Patrick breathes.

They wander out into the grounds, up the driveway to the old estate house, and peer in the windows. The sun has drifted close to the horizon by this point, and it’s hard to tell if there’s anyone inside.

“Do you think we can just walk right in?” Pete asks.

Patrick tests the door handle. “It’s locked. I guess we missed our chance for a tour.”

“Ah, well. I’m sure they’ll be open another time,” says Pete, bobbing on his toes. “I think I overheard someone talking about sheep. There must be a farm somewhere.”

“I guess sheep is the next best thing to a possibly haunted old mansion,” Patrick grins, leading the way around the house.

“Sheep are definitely the cutest domesticated animal,” says Pete. “Well, aside from my dog, Hemingway.”

“I didn’t peg you as a literary type.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Pete says with an air of mystery.

“I’d like to,” says Patrick, surprising himself. “Get to know you, I mean.”

Pete’s smile stretches beyond his face, into his twitchy hands and the way he breathes. “I write poetry. Sometimes I read it at open mic nights at the club. It’s like… It’s not something I ever saw myself doing, you know, as a career, but I just have to. It just spills out. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” says Patrick as they round the back of the house, the grounds tumbling into an open field framed by the setting sun. “That’s kind of how I feel about playing music.”

“Shut up,” says Pete, awed. “You’re not just a guy who works in a bookstore. What do you play?”

“Guitar,” Patrick shrugs. “Just, you know, covers. But I get what you mean. It’s good to have something like that. Something more than just the nine-to-five, something that keeps you up at night, your hands itching to get on the strings.”

Pete looks at him for a long moment before turning toward the field. “If this grass was kept up I’d probably roll down this hill.”

“You’d get stains all over your nice wedding clothes.”

“Grass stains are a sign of character.”

Patrick shakes his head fondly.

“Hey, there’s a cool-looking tree over there,” says Pete, pointing some kind of willow, its branches touching the ground. There’s a small opening between them, the grass worn away from where people have ducked inside. “I’m going in.”

Patrick follows Pete into the tree-cave, and is grateful at the lack of spiderwebs. “It’s like something out of a fairy tale,” says Patrick, gawking at the leaves that form walls around them.

“This is a prime makeout spot,” says Pete, pointing at the trunk of the tree where various people have carved their initials with hearts around them.

 _That was an invitation_ , Patrick’s brain tells him. Pete is only a few inches away from him, his lips parted just slightly.

“Yeah, it’s pretty secluded,” Patrick agrees, frozen to the spot.

Pete seems to understand, taking a step forward and cupping his hand under Patrick’s jaw, tilting his head up. “So, I’m going to kiss you now, if that’s okay.”

Patrick nods, his eyes sliding closed as Pete’s lips meet his own. Pete smells _amazing_ , and his lips are soft, and the little noise he makes in the back of his throat has Patrick immediately wanting more. He lets Pete control the kiss, licking at Patrick’s lower lip as he grips fiercely at the front of Pete’s vest.

Patrick’s not really aware that he’s pushing Pete against the trunk of the tree until he hears a muffled noise of discomfort. “S-sorry,” Patrick says, breaking away, and it comes out sounding kind of wrecked.

“No, no, it’s okay,” says Pete, staring at Patrick’s mouth. “Here, let me—” Pete shifts into a more comfortable spot and pulls Patrick back toward him, his hands knocking Patrick’s hat off his head and digging into his hair with just the right amount of tension. Patrick groans into the kiss—he hasn’t felt this kind of passion, well, possibly ever. He feels dizzy with it, and then Pete slides his leg between Patrick’s and Patrick sees stars.

They’re both hard, and Patrick wants more than anything to sink down on his knees and suck Pete off. But this tree-cave, as secluded as it is, isn’t exactly private, and Patrick’s not really up for the possibility of getting caught with a guy he’s only known for a few hours at a Mormon wedding.

“I—fuck,” Patrick says against Pete’s lips, breathing heavily. “You’re—you’re really goddamn hot. Like, holy shit. But. I think I need to—” Patrick can’t seem to get the words out, so he flails a bit instead.

Pete seems to get it. “Yeah, okay.” They detangle themselves from each other’s limbs, panting in the shared space. “We should maybe, um. Date?”

Patrick grins so hard he can feel it in the corners of his eyes. “Fuck yeah.” He presses a less steamy kiss to the side of Pete’s mouth and picks his hat up off the ground. “How badly do I look like I was just macking on you?”

Pete eyes him up with a satisfied grin. “Even if your lips weren’t so pink and your hair and clothes weren’t so disheveled, I’m pretty sure the amount of time we’ve both been gone from the party is suspicious enough.”

“You’ve got a point there,” says Patrick, ducking back out through the opening in the branches. “Although… What about the _Mormons_?”

Pete laughs, following him out. “Who, Dallon and Breezy? Like they give a fuck. Have you _met_ Brendon and Ryan?”

“Was Ryan the one in the flower crown?”

“Yeah, and Brendon was playing the guitar. They’re about as flamboyant as they come.”

“Oh. Cool.” Patrick’s hands twitch at his sides; now that he’s had a taste of Pete, he just wants to go back to snogging him senseless.

“Hey look, there’s those sheep I was talking about,” says Pete, pointing toward a little farmhouse down the hill. He doesn’t walk so much as _frolic_ over to the fence, and Patrick follows.

“Careful, that fence is probably electrified,” says Patrick, watching Pete crouch next to it and wave at the sheep.

“Oh my God, there’s an alpaca under that tree. I bet it guards the sheep.”

“I can’t get over how cute you are,” Patrick blurts, but then he realizes that he has nothing to fear, that he and Pete are already on the same page.

“Excuse me?” says Pete, standing up and poking his finger into Patrick’s chest. “You think _I’m_ cute? Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

Patrick is blushing again, but it’s getting dark so maybe Pete won’t notice. “Let’s get back to the party before they send the Scooby gang after us.”

“Do you mean the actual Scooby gang, or the one from Buffy the Vampire Slayer?”

“Either one, I guess,” Patrick chuckles.

 

By the time they get back to the tent, the party is in full swing, an eclectic mix of young and old sweeping across the dance floor. Patrick is kind of sad to see that all the food has been taken away. Pete pulls him into some kind of ridiculous white boy dance routine, and Patrick just goes with it. Pretty much everyone else looks ridiculous anyway, so there’s not much to be embarrassed about.

“Sorry guys, but this is gonna be the last song,” says the DJ, switching to “I Wanna Dance With Somebody.”

“What, really?” says Patrick. “It’s only, like, 9:00.”

“I think the venue is only allowed to be open for so long,” Pete explains. “Don’t worry, I’m hosting the after-party.”

“I still haven’t actually met Dallon and Breezy. Seems a little weird.”

“Well, I should introduce you!” Pete bodily hauls Patrick over to the bride and groom, who are clearly having the time of their lives. “Hey Dallon, Breezy, this is Patrick. He feels bad for crashing your wedding without actually meeting either of you.”

“Were you not invited?” Breezy asks, surprisingly nonchalant.

“I’m Joe’s plus one,” Patrick admits. “Really awesome wedding, though. This venue is so… charming.”

“Thanks, man,” says Dallon, shaking Patrick’s hand. “Well, now that you’ve met Pete, I’m sure we’ll be seeing you around.” He looks between them and cocks his head.

Patrick bites his lip with a grin, glancing sideways at Pete. Dallon claps a hand on Pete’s shoulder with a nod, returning to the heart of the dance floor with his wife.

Patrick doesn’t realize that Pete is holding his hand until he feels the rough pad of Pete’s thumb rubbing against the back of it. It feels… right. Like they fit together. They share a quiet moment, and Patrick can feel goosebumps on his arms.

“I’m glad that…” Patrick gestures between him and Pete, “That this happened. That I met you.”

“Yeah,” says Pete, his breath a little shaky. “Me too.”

 

—end—

 


End file.
